


Lessons in friendship 4 - Enduring care

by TheGracefulBlueCat



Series: Lessons in Friendship [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caring John, Doctor John, Gen, Hurt Sherlock, John is a Very Good Doctor, Sherlock Whump, Sherlock's thoughts, Trust, Trust Issues, touch issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGracefulBlueCat/pseuds/TheGracefulBlueCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some Time after of HoB. Sherlock wanting to show John he trusts him and an opportunity occurs, he stuggles against his own old behaviour-structures... but he bites the bullet - or maybe he's just to much out of it to really resist. No First Person POV but almost entirely from Sherlock's side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made. 
> 
> I have problems receiving comfort, care and touch in any kind, sometimes I wish I got another chance to learn how to receive and be able to be comforted by it the way Sherlock does here. Maybe that's why this was written.  
> Gladly I have only problemes to receive. To give comfort is no problem at all and I was told several times that my care is more than tender and soothing. I tried to put into John's actions what I'd have done..
> 
> Many thanks to my betareader Graveofthefireflies!

 

 

Sherlock struggled to get into a sitting position, the distant pressure on his abdominal area turning into a dull pain. He gasped with surprise and tried to understand what was happening around him.

"Sherlock… relax, everything's okay… Don't sit up…" John gently urged.

"Can't…" Sherlock started but was out of breath before he could continue. There was chaos around him. There were more people there than just John… he had problems recognizing them and defining from where their sounds of movement came. In fact he had problems focussing on anything… He didn't even know where he was. Blurry… dark… no smell, neither familiar nor foreign.

"It's alright, you're safe… lie back down." John urged.

Dizziness fogged his brain and Sherlock struggled to get up again. Hadn't he just done that… fought to get up? Someone slowly gripped his arm making him turn his head.

"He's only half conscious…" A distant voice that should go with a face announced. But it was hard to get this sluggy brain of his into working gear… The world felt like jelly, thick and distorted.

"I want to give him some painkillers so he won't move that much. I don't want to sedate him for now. I might need your help." John spoke in a low voice with somebody else than him.

"John?…" He was panicking he distantly realized… he didn't want any sedation… he hadn't felt panic since Dartmore. His hands flailing through the air looking for an escape route.

His eyes were open, he realized, but everything was blurred so much he couldn't really see more than rough shapes and colors.

"Sherlock?… Squeeze my hand if you hear me…" John urged. He squeezed a hand.

"Good." John announced in a low voice right next to him. He was lying on… something soft? But this gladly wasn't a hospital… no biting hospital smells around… his bed? The surroundings vaguely smelled like his room, could be his bed then.

"J'hn…?" He muttered, alarmed how difficult it was to get this single word out.

"Yeah, it's me… you need to relax… It's okay. Your body is just playing bad tricks on you. I want you to relax, then you'll be able to breathe better. You probably have some fractured ribs. Where do you hurt?"

"Stomach…" He breathed even before he had started to really concentrate on how his body felt, he did not really want to.

"Yeah, your abdomen is tense and I need to examine it. You might be hurting additionally because you haven't eaten solid food in days. Don't be alarmed I'll give you something to relax." John explained.

"No… don't…" But someone had taken his arm and gently held it, he was so weak he couldn't escape. A sharp prick pierced the back of his hand. He tried to pull away but his fingers where held firm.

"Hang on… easy… It's alright… You just relax. You're home and safe… Don't fight it…" John soothed.

He felt John doing something with his hand, felt sticky, then a hand was on his hairline, the thumb moving slowly up and down his forehead.

"Alright, port's in…" John softly announced. "I want you on fluids and relaxants. If you move too much you might hurt yourself further. Don't even think to start arguing. I will call an ambulance if you don't do as I say."

A cold tingling sensation sneaked up his left arm and he forced his eyes open to find out what was happening. He held his breath when he saw John's fuzzy figure sitting on the left side of his bed and preparing a syringe, his medical bag open on a nearby chair.

"No… can't…" He stammered but it was of no use. John held his hand and inserted the content of the syringe in the IV line he had just started.

Dazed Sherlock followed the line up to a bag which was hanging on a hook above his bed… He was indeed home at the flat… since when was there a hook?… Oh, someone had taken away the picture frame with his certificate…

The chemical taste of the injected liquid started to irritate his taste buds. He hated to taste IVs, happened every time.

"What'n it? Tast's bad."

"Something to help you relax. Sorry if it feels a bit cold." John explained.

Sherlock felt the blanket being moved away.

The cold made him frown.

Someone started unbuttoning his shirt.

He felt a wave of repulsion take his breath.

He started to struggle for breath, something was hindering him… he was desperately trying to evade being touched…

His chest hurt.

"He's just looking at your belly, Sherlock, relax." Mrs. Hudson… God, he was embarrassed even more. Had she been here long?

"No… don't touch me… " He begged and tried to move away from the touch, a wave of pain pierced his stomach.

"Sherlock, dear… shhh… What's the problem?…" Mrs. Hudson asked puzzled.

John's warm hands moved on his chest while opening the buttons and flapping away his shirt front.

"Don't undress me… no…" Sherlock's voice sounded distressed, he heard it, much to vulnerable, he did not want to sound like that, it was disgusting. In the mental chaos of yellow orange disgust and shame a mental situation-pop-up openened in his mind, it's bright scarlet red making him wince. Oh, right he had started a situation-monitoring-routine of some kind… clearly the event he had tagged must have just happened… but he was too much out of it to be able to deciper that right now… Though he knew it was a bad idea to ignore those… that shade of red meant 'important'.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"I need to examine this… relax and let me have a look… or you go to the hospital. I can't risk you to having internal bleeding unnoticed."

"No… leave me alone… don't… no hospital." Sherlock tried to resist.

He needed to concentrate and find out about that tag… He tried to roll into a fetal position and with clumsy hands he held to his hurting chest.

Why was this such a problem? He wanted to trust John, he had decided earlier to give John more of trust with theses matters. …Uh, that was what the pop-up was about… Great, understanding the pop-up's message before reading it… Bad tag?… Compromised mind… Yeah,… apparently he was to much out of it for this to work properly… So, where was the red line he had in hand before getting sidetracked with the pop-up?… Yes,… why was something so difficult here? Mrs Hudson…? His movement had stopped, he did not succeed to move, neiter rolling onto his side nor sitting up. He felt like bolted to the bed. His bed had bolts?

Another touch at the new IV port and this time an odd, thick pressure raising up his arm. He needed to trust John… he needed to get away. He didn't want to be touched… need to prove John trust… Great, inconsistent Standart Operation Procedures… two red threads leading in opposite directions… He tried to rise, tried to sit up, this time paying more attention to make sure he'd succeed.

He brought his arms down beside himself and tried to push upwards but strong hands were there. One grabbing his shoulder… another hand pressed into the bow of his elbow, preventing him from pushing up any further. He tried to push them away but he was weak and they knew how to outrun his power, and they helt him in place, didn't let go. He heard himself grund… Not good… Vulnerable, yeah, he was defenceless right now…

He remembered again he had decided to let John help and this… he gulped… this was an occasion to do it… This was gonna be hard… His urge was to escape and hide where none would disturb him and see him in this pathetic state. But he wanted to regain John's trust and this situation was one of those to do that? Why were his thoughts all mixed up and repeating themselfes?... and in such disarray? He looked for one of his mental red strings that usually guided the endless bundles of rushing thoughts… and found only elements of it with loose ends. Loose ends? Had he ever had one of those threats that had two loose ends before?… This was … this was bad…

"Sherlock?… do you know where you are?" John asked.

 

 


	2. Trusting John

 

 

"Sherlock?… Do you know where you are?" John asked.

"Yeah… home."

What was happening?… He blinked and realized he was in his bed… he had figured that out before, hadn't he? He had been beaten… outside… by two men.

Memory slowly came back to him.

He had been on a case and followed the suspect, but someone had ambushed him in a dark alley. He had been beaten repeatedly… taken a cab home and John had opened the door, that's where his memory stopped.

"Relax… You're okay!… Easy!" John's soothing hand on his chest, guiding him down back into a lying position.

He was panting, another person bent over him… Mrs Hudson…? What was she doing here?

"What's the problem?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"M'udson, could you leave 's'lone?" Sherlock begged. He could try to let John care for him, it would be hard, but he was _not_ able to endure to have another witness to that.

"Why, dear? I want to help?" She sounded a bit disappointed to not be entrusted with this.

"Mrs Hudson, I don't think he is in his clear mind right now, he might have been drugged, and I also think he doesn't want to be seen like this. Do him the favour and please understand, it's not you he's sending away, he'd send anybody away. I'll call for you if you can help." She turned away, gladly with only a worried expression on her face.

"You just relax there, let me handle everything for now… just let it happen…" John smiled encouragingly and bared the detective's chest and belly with casual professionalism. A heavy feeling in his body added, forcing himself to settle down… He wanted John's trust and he had to work for it… bite the bullet… now!

"I'm gonna touch you now, tell me if it gets too bad." When John started to press and probe his belly with warm and firm hands he had to take some deep breaths to fight the urge to shove him away again and then wondered why he was feeling so stiff….. He sucked in air when John pressed a sore spot right on his ribs.

"Er… You have at least two fractured ribs. I am pretty sure there is no internal bleeding but I will monitor you closely to be sure. I'm gonna put some ointment on your side, just go with it... You hurt yourself by being all tensed up, you know. Try to relax." John informed him. Seconds later he felt a soft and cold pressure start just above his belly button. John's hands moved around and carefully applied whatever that stuff was. It smelled like… painkillers or something…

The touch was unnerving but kind of hypnotising… Sherlock felt his body start to relax.

He let his eyes close and tried to sort his wobbly thoughts but couldn't concentrate and felt himself drift towards sleep after a few minutes.

He was only half conscious when John reached his solar plexus and he tried to turn away from the touch when something in his mind exploded without any reason he could grasp.

He gasped in surprise.

"What is it?… Sherlock? Easy… Tell me what the problem is!" John sounded far away and Sherlock was not able to understand what he was talking about. He tried to fight the darkness that threatened to drown him. Distantly he felt the touch change and recognised it was on his brow now.

"There is… orange hot'ingling… solar plexus?" Sherlock managed to mumble.

"Sherlock? Could you explain that?" John sounded a bit alarmed.

"Need t'trust you… let you do…" Sherlock pressed out, wanting John to understand.

"I'm gonna examine you some more now, just go with it…" John informed again.

Sherlock sucked in air when John pressed a sore spot near his stomach.

"You have some bruising over your stomach, any nausea?"

Sherlock managed to shake his head… Was there? He realized he had said 'No' before even having listened to his body… it was what he usually did. Because it was not relevant. Because to bother other people with his body's needs or problems was rude and making himself assailable and appearing weak.

But this was John and he was not just asking to be polite, he _needed_ to know. Also, it was hard to listen to his body when he expected the moment he started to he'd be hit by more pain. He usually shoved this kind of input into the furthest away corner of his mind, repressing pain and discomfort the moment it occurred. He had been acquired to hide his transport's sensations, discomfort or pain from a very young age. He was ashamed to talk about it.

"'bit…" he corrected himself.

John raised an eyebrow.

"You were hit on the head, I need to clean and bandage it." John unpacked several items which he put on the chair next to him and started to clean the wound.

Sherlock endured it, not the pain but the touch, and the fact he had given away control to someone else. Enduring the touch wasn't as hard as he had thought. He had been glad when he had realized John's touch was not as bad as everybody else's on one or two occasions before. In fact, he now realized, it was neutral.   
Neutral was good, it wasn't straining.

He usually was unnerved when somebody entered his space and his impulse to back off kicked in. This space was his skin plus fourty centimetres of air, sixty centimetres around his head, lilac distaste bloomed when somebody moved anything into it without him wanting to, persons were the worst.  
But with John it was different, right now John had his hands on his face and the doctor's face was leaning close to see better. Sherlock would have preferred he would keep a bit more distance because he could feel him breathing and that was just a bit too much input on his skin, but it was _not_ negative, it was neutral. Trust him, he wants to help… just let him do this….

 

"Sherlock?… You're okay?" John had stopped his movements and stared at Sherlock's closed eyes and controlled breathing through his nose.

John was worried, he still wasn't sure treating Sherlock at home was a good idea. The detective was a mess.

It had taken the doctor totally by surprise when he had opened the front door to the weak knock and Sherlock had practically fallen into the hallway. He had barely managed to keep him from seriously hitting his head.

Sherlock was covered in burises and maybe one of the lacerations needed stitches later.

The sedative should have taken effect by now. He was worried because Sherlock wasn't himself. He didn't resist at all!… This was odd, but he had explained, hadn't he? As soon as he was fully aware he had hinted he wanted to let John help.

He had missed it before, but now he realized the connection to a conversation he had with Sherlock a few months earlier. John had been annoyed when he had had a flashback and Sherlock kept bugging him about that… John had tried to explain that trust was not a single sided thing, not only present on one side of a friendship, and he had said he needed Sherlock to trust him in return, otherwise his trust would probably retreat and never climb over a superficial level.

Was Sherlock tolerating this because he wanted to show his trust in him? He raised an eyebrow. Why-would-I-need-you-Sherlock opening up to him?… to present him with trust?

"Sherlock?…"

The detective was still way to tense and worked up, John wondered how often he had told him to relax already, must have been at least twenty times, but Sherlock just didn't do it, or maybe he couldn't. Maybe his adrenaline was still pumping from the attack, though it should have stopped quite some time ago… what else might be stressing the other man? John decided he wanted to try to make Sherlock feel safe and wondered if Sherlock ever felt like that. With his job he was expecting worst-case-scenarios at all time, a bit like John remembered from the war, always alert, never let your guard down. Sherlock seemed to have internalised that priciple to a dregree that he could not switch it off any longer.

"'m Fine." Sherlock mumbled.

"Okay, almost finished… I want to make sure you can rest comfortable." John went to get some stuff, time for a psychological experiment that might have the side effect that Sherlock wouldn't move to much.

 

Sherlock wondered what John had in mind now. He realized his thoughts were getting slower by the minute. He was obviously very tired… exhausted… and… drugged?! It felt odd to give the ball to someone else… passiveness… the concept made him slightly nervous: loss of control - like a shiny frozen lake in the dark, slippery area. He knew he was a control freak. Passiveness meant: being bored fast. Being bored was dangerous. Always keep your mind busy…

John came back with two loosely rolled blankets and knelt on the right side of the bed.

"Just go with this, let me do the work."

He was held by his shoulder and his hip and carefully rolled half onto his side, something soft was pushed behind his back on the whole length of his body, then he was turned on his other side and the procedure repeated. When he was rolled back into a supine position his knees where lifted and a large cushion was placed under them. Tight softness surrounded him on all sides now, like he was in a large U-shaped pillow… Holding him. It felt good. White… cleansed… cocooned…

"Whatare you doin'?" Sherlock felt himself start to drift.

John looked at him with a slightly fond expression.

"Sleep, Sherlock… This is meant to make you comfortable."

His hands were lifted gently and positioned outstretched on the improvised padding, palm up but carefull not to disturb the IV-port.

John stroked the insides of his rights hand's palm with his left thenar… with slight pressure…

He had never felt tended to like this before, he had expected it to feel different, it was like a warm azure blue tingling, positive feeling… But also high… and dizzy… and cared for.

 _This_ he had never felt before.

It felt so… so… very safe… He slipped into sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a native speaker and I hope there weren't too many grammar mistakes or typos.


End file.
